You hated flying. With every fibre of your being, you hated it. So when you were forced to fly home early from your vacation for a work emergency, instead of driving back, you were less than pleased.

The air was stormy, and your last minute red-eye ticket purchase had shoehorned you into a middle seat near the back of the plane.

On your aisle side was an old lady already thoroughly passed out, snoring and preventing you from getting up out of your seat.

In the window seat was a tall military guy, clearly flying home from some deployment, still dressed in his fatigues. He’d looked the same degree of unimpressed from the moment you’d shuffled into the seat beside him- from the way his knees bumped against the row of seats in front of you in the tiny rows to the way the stewardess eyed him suspiciously.

You, however, were too busy trying not to have an absolute meltdown as turbulence jostled the plane and dropped your stomach.

You were torn from your thoughts as a hesitant, gloved hand tapped your arm, and you looked up to see the soldier watching you closely.

He points wordlessly towards the window, and you look up just in time to see a stunning blue-purple flash of lightning streak across the blackened clouds below.